In the Wind
by emeralddarkness
Summary: Edgeworth's life after he's taken in by Manfred. Oneshot collection. Spoilers through 1-4, plus Franziska.
1. Prologue: The Fairytale

**In The Wind**  
emeralddarkness

**Summary: **An in-between sort of story. Edgeworth's life, after his father dies but before he meets up with Phoenix Wright again. Something of a cross between multichapter and oneshot collection. Spoilers through 1-4, plus Franziska.**  
Rating:** T/PG-13**  
Disclaimer:** _Ace Attorney_/_Gyakuten Saiban_ and the associated characters, scenarios, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners; the author hiding behind the penname 'emeralddarkness' makes no claim to any of these. Any original characters and situations are the property of emeralddarkness, and neither she nor they are in any way associated with the owners, creators and producers of _Ace Attorney_/_Gyakuten Saiban_. No copyright infringement is intended.**  
Further Notes: **The title is inspired by a saying that I found in _A Wizard Abroad_, by Diane Duane. "The wind blows, and things get blown along in it." It seemed appropriate. Oh, and feedback is always welcome and highly appreciated.

...

Just sayin.

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**Prologue: The Fairytale**

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Once upon a time there was a family.

It was a small family, consisting only of a father and his son; the mother had become sick and died when her child was still young. Still, that hadn't seemed to matter quite so much because the two remaining were so happy. The father was a fierce warrior, honorable and true, and his son thought the world of him. He wanted to be a warrior the equal of his father, and so after every one of his battles the father would come home to his son and would teach him. The boy learned what he was taught quickly and well, and every time he progressed his father would smile. The boy lived for those smiles, and every day strove to be more like his father.

And then, one day, a new warrior entered the region. He was one of the most feared warriors that had ever been known, and he was known for making the law his own. He did so here, and challenged a peasant. The father, who was sworn to protect the weak and defend the innocent, could not let such a battle take place. He challenged the warrior in place of the other and his challenge was accepted. The warrior was arrogant and believed he could not be beaten by one so low as the father. While he was correct, and defeated the father, the father in return wounded the famous warrior, who was well known for leaving each battle without injury. The dutiful son, who had come to watch the battle, sorrowed at the loss, but admiration of his father sang in his heart at what he had witnessed. He ran to his fallen father and helped in what ways he could - he took his father's armor and weapons and helped his father to a coach that was near by. The father was injured and needed to return home to recover, and so they began their journey.

But, before they had the chance to travel far, there was an accident. It was worse because it was unexpected; everything had seemed to be in good condition. The coach crashed and fell into a river, breaking to pieces in the swift current. The horses, who were not free, were drowned, but the splintering of the coach allowed everything inside to spill out, and the people were thrown to the waters. Of the equipment of the father, only his sword was safe, for the son held on to it fiercely. All three managed to gather the strength to reach the edge of the river, but once they did they collapsed. When the son awoke, he discovered the body of his father run through with his own sword – the very sword that that he had saved. But he was not left to consider this; the mighty warrior discovered the scene of the wreck and the newly orphaned boy. He told the child to follow him that he might train him in such ways as he saw fit.

This was the end of the fairytale.


	2. Chapter One: Miles

**Chapter One: Miles

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"Miles!"

Manfred von Karma had the coldest eyes that Miles Edgeworth had ever seen. It was what he'd thought the first time he'd seen him — a knee-jerk reaction that had been as automatic as taking his next breath. Whenever his father had looked at him- He stopped the thought.

"Yes, sir?"

Manfred's eyes seemed colder yet when he looked at his new ward, but surely that couldn't be the case. If he hated him as much as his eyes seemed to say surely he wouldn't have taken him in the way he did. It certainly wasn't as though he'd had to. There was nothing there to compel him, not even pity (if the man could feel pity) for a child with no one to take care of him. Miles was an orphan, true enough, and all of the relatives that the government had been able to find were long since dead and buried, but that didn't change the fact that he'd had _something_. It hadn't been the most desirable of circumstances — he'd been a ward of the state, alternately in orphanages and indifferent foster homes for the past few months — but he hadn't been starving in the street. He'd had a roof, and food to eat, and wasn't wearing shoes with holes in them. There was no reason for Manfred to have signed the adoption papers if the man really did hate him.

"We're leaving for Germany. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" There was really nothing to stay in America _for_, but even so Miles felt his fingers twitch, tightening compulsively on the top of the half-empty bag he was carrying. It was the garbage bag that they had given him to hold everything he owned for this latest move, and while the dark green sturdy plastic worked well enough for the job it still stung a little that it was a thing designed for the containment and transportation of trash. Everything he truly owned was in it — everything that had been his before the shooting, whatever odd bits and ends (mostly clothing) he'd managed to pick up since then. Cold comfort, the bits and pieces in the bag, but it was all he had left. The tiny motion, or the shudder of plastic that accompanied it, seemed to draw Manfred's eyes — he looked down to the sack at Miles's side and his lip curled.

"Tomorrow. If I'd been able to arrange a plane it would have been today, but everything after the flight that _had_ been scheduled was booked. Now dump that pathetic thing with the rest of the trash, where it belongs. You'll be provided with everything you need."

Miles felt his hands twitch again he swallowed reflexively.

"Please sir, there are a few things that I _would_ rather-"

"Your old life is over. Don't keep useless mementos, they'll do nothing but make you weak."

"But sir-!"

"Are you questioning me, Miles Edgeworth?" Manfred's voice was soft and as cold as his eyes. Miles could almost feel himself wither under the gaze. He dropped his eyes and felt cold and horrible and _sick._ His voice was barely audible when he answered.

"No, sir."

"Good. Now get rid of that thing."

Miles did what he was told to do — he owed Manfred von Karma, after all, for being willing to take him in — but in the end he couldn't follow his instructions to the letter. Most of his own things he didn't truly care about; it was clothing, shoes, a few books — almost nothing irreplaceable. Some of them he'd miss, but that was all. They were just _there_. However, the last thing in the bag was different.

When his father had died there had been very little that Miles was even interested in; there had only been one thing he'd cared enough about to fight for. That one thing was the defense attorney badge that had shone gold on Gregory Edgeworth's lapel nearly every day for years. It had been a battle to be able to keep it, but in the end the judge had apparently taken pity on him and granted his request. He'd had to swear that he'd never try to _do_ anything with it, but that was no real concession — he hadn't been planning on doing so. The badge simply represented everything about his father, from the shine on his glasses to his smile whenever Miles did a math problem correctly. Miles couldn't let _that_, the symbol of his father's pride and all he'd worked for, be carted off to the dump with the coffee grinds and orange peels. He left the rest, just as he'd been told, but the badge he slipped into his pocket. That night he'd fished it out and held it and stared at it until he fell asleep. It was just a scrap of golden metal no bigger than a quarter, but as he curled up with it, it was still remarkably bittersweet.


End file.
